


found this cute guy on the merry-go-round?

by abeebumbling



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Flirting, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, jonmartin SPEEDRUN, opposite of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeebumbling/pseuds/abeebumbling
Summary: Martin Blackwood hadn’t meant to stick to the merry-go-round job for so long. It was boring, very boring, the music whiny once you’ve listened to it a hundred times, so anything even mildly interesting stood out like a sore thumb. Jonathan Sims being on the verge of a mental breakdown turned out to be one of those things.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 181
Kudos: 751





	1. mystery flavour

Martin Blackwood hadn’t meant to stick to the merry-go-round job at London Zoo for so long. Lying on his CV had started to be a bit of a strain, employers usually noticing after about a month of brushing it off as being new. But he’d found it a peaceful job, that left him a few days free for other work and it paid… _weirdly well_ , especially since all he did was sit in a booth, sell tickets (which... why? Can't they just pay and go on it directly?) and push buttons. He had suspicions that the actual owner of said merry-go-round was commiting tax fraud. Simon Fairchild just seemed the type.

It was boring, very boring, the music whiny once you’ve listened to it a hundred times, so anything even mildly interesting stood out like a sore thumb. Most of the riders were kids obviously, occasionally accompanied by adults or reluctant older siblings, there was a surprising amount of teenagers, always in giggling groups and, of course, people who were drunk or otherwise intoxicated.

When a man dressed in a too large band t-shirt, black pants and doc martens strode up to buy a ticket, Martin was absolutely sure he fit in the third category. His eyes were red and squinting, and he looked completely out of it in every sense as he dug in his pockets for money.

“Enjoy,” Martin had called out, deciding to keep a close eye on him.

“Thank you,” came the mumbled reply.

Martin watched as the guy hooked one spindly leg after the other on a pale pink horse, hands loosely wrapping around the plastic rod. He leaned his forehead against it, black hair falling almost dramatically in his face. Martin bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe the whole situation was just slightly hilarious.

But it was just the beginning. When Martin presses the button and the merry-go-round comes to life with a small metallic screech, the guy startles, suddenly gripping on tightly, back straight. Martin can’t help a chuckle then, just as he bobs out of view. Next time Martin catches glimpse of him he’s actually smiling, hands still in a death grip on the plastic. The black nail polish he’s wearing is a stark contrast against the pink of the horse. Martin kind of wants to take a picture.

He’s reluctant to stop the ride because the sight is just so entertaining but to his delight, he finds the same guy queuing to buy another ticket. He tries not to smile too hard as he takes the money. This happens about three more times and Martin finds himself giggling as he pushes the buttons to start the ride again, and again.

When he does eventually leave, Martin can’t resist calling out to him:

“Come again!”

He’s met with a blushing face and a nod, although he very much doubts it’s sincere.

The next day is a slow one. Monday mornings often are. Martin drums his fingers on his poetry notebook, chewing the end of his pen. He didn't get why Simon insisted on opening during mornings. He leans back in his chair, glances around at the surrounding benches. His eyes catch a flash of jet black hair. He almost falls over as he turns sharply to get a better look. It’s the same guy as yesterday, who’s realising he’s been spotted and sheepishly making his way to Martin.

“Hello.” His voice is butter soft.

“Hi.” Martin can’t help a smile. “We meet again.”

He blushes brightly under his dark skin.

“You did say to come again,” he retorts. Martin wonders if he's faking his accent.

“I did. Didn’t expect you back so soon, though.”

He shrugs, eyes dropping to the ground before gliding towards the merry-go-round.

“Are you….open?”

This was actually happening. Again. Martin struggles to keep a straight face.

“Yeah.” He digs into his pocket. Martin waves a hand at him, signalling him to stop. “No need, it’s on the house.”

“What? No, no-“

“Yes, yes,” Martin says, making a little shooing motion. “The face you make while on that thing is payment enough.”

He blushes harder somehow but puts his coins back into his pocket, dragging his feet towards the plastic horses. He’s wearing the same dark, blocky shoes. Martin watches him dither between seats before eventually picking the same candyfloss colored horse he was on the first time.

“Ready ladies and gents?” He calls out, making him jump, then put his face in his hands. Martin pushes the button. “Here we go!”

Martin sees him hide his face against the plastic pole he clings to. Cute. He immediately shakes the thought off before thinking it again when he catches the smile on the man’s face as he rounds the ride.

“How was it?” Martin asks once the music fades.

He dusts himself off with a shrug, looking very dignified for someone who’d just willingly ridden a merry-go-round as an adult.

“Not as thrilling as last night.”

Martin raises an eyebrow.

“I wonder why.” He’s met with a questioning look. “It… wasn’t very subtle.”

“What?”

“Um. You know. You were, uh, kinda obviously high last night.”

The guy looks at him, mouth open. Then he huffs a wry laugh. Martin feels himself inexplicably flush.

“And whatever made you think _that_?”

“Red eyes? Really enjoyed a merry-go-round despite being.. I dunno, whatever age you are.” He didn't want to assume.

“Ah. I see, no, I was just having an odd day I suppose.” He shrugs again. Half his words seem to be shrugs. “Not the good kind.”

“Oh,” Martin says, then: “I’m sorry.”

He’s waved off, then eyed up and down.

“Do you have a favourite fruit?”

Martin blinks. 

“Erm, I like strawberries I guess? Why?”

“Just a moment then.”

Martin blinks again and the guy has disappeared. He cranes his neck to find him at one of the zoo's many ice cream stands. Ah. A moment later and he’s coming back, an almost triumphant smile on his lips. He’s holding a waffle cone topped with a pink scoop in one hand and a cup with two yellow scoops in his other hand. Martin squints as he approaches.

“Is that rum and raisin?” He has to swallow a laugh. The stranger seems unfazed.

“Yes.” He hands Martin the cone. “For letting me on for free.”

Martin takes it. His fingers brush against a warm palm and he finds himself tingling all over. 

“You shouldn’t have, seriously.” It doesn’t stop him from licking it. Summer was starting after all and the booth he sat in sucked in the heat. “Thank you- ah, I never caught your name.”

“Jonathan. Jon is fine though,”

“Jon,” he tests it out. “Nice to formally meet you, I’m Martin.”

“A pleasure,” he says so seriously, that Martin takes a second to understand it’s a joke. He laughs into his ice cream. Jon smiles, fidgets slightly as he puts a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“So what are you writing?”

Martin snaps his notebook close. He’d completely forgotten about it.

“I-ah- it’s nothing, just some poetry.” Jon tilts his head with interest. Like a cat, Martin thinks. “I’m not very good,” he adds quickly.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jon replies, but thankfully doesn’t pry. “Besides, I wouldn’t know, I don’t really read poetry.”

“Most people don’t it seems,” Martin sighs. “So what do you read?” He hopes it’s not too obvious that he really doesn’t want the conversation to die. This is definitely the most interesting thing that’s happened to him so far at this job.

“All sorts, I’m studying literatture.” He stops, spoons more ice cream into his mouth. “Well, I was. I graduated a few days ago.”

“Oh!” Martin tries not to think too hard about how they must be around the same age. “Congratulations.”

Jon’s expression is conflicted. 

“Thank you,” he says curtly before putting a particularly big spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

“You… you okay?” Martin asks tentatively.

Jon gives another dry laugh.

“I’ll let you guess how I’m doing based on the activities you’ve witnessed me doing recently.”

“That’s a long winded way of saying no.” Jon hums vaguely, busying himself with his ice cream. Martin takes the hint. He waves his cone lazily. “Full of emulsifiers these things, aren’t they?”

Maybe it’s not the most elegant way to change the subject but Jon’s eyes light up and during the twenty minutes of his rapid speech and expressive hands that follow, Martin realises he’s grown awfully fond in a very short amount of time.

\- - -

“Jon?”

“Mhm?”

Martin puts his hands together in a pleading gesture.

“Can I please take a picture of you on the merry-go-round?”

Jon splutters into his ice cream. It’s rum and raisin as always. This seems to be their thing now. Martin lets Jon on the merry go round for free, he sits on it, completely zoned out for a half-hour or so, then insists on getting Martin ice cream.

“Why?” He manages to cough.

“My friends won’t believe that a guy dressed..” He gestures towards Jon’s ripped jeans. “…like that goes on the merry go round on a regular basis. Surprising, I know.”

Tim and Sasha also didn’t believe that said guy was very cute. Currently however, Jon is choking on a raisin.

“You told your friends about me?”

“Uhm.” Martin tries not to blush too obviously. “Yeah?”

“Excuse me, let me rephrase that, you told your friends that a deranged, recently graduated man regularly shows up to hijack your merry-go-round and dissociate on a plastic horse?”

“I wouldn’t say you _hijack_ it since I have to insist on letting you on for free every time.” Martin laughs. “And it’s not _my_ merry-go-round, I just work part time here because the actual owner is practically a century old.”

Jon huffs, crossing his arms.

“A picture in front of the merry-go-round then?” Jon doesn’t say anything but sighs heavily. “Yes! That means yes!”

Martin squeezes outside the little booth he sells the tickets from, thankfully it’s Monday again and everything is deserted. Jon trails after him, sulkily eating ice cream. He fiddles with his phone, hurriedly switching it to selfie mode before Jon changes his mind.

“Say cheese,” he says and internally cringes as he snaps a photo.

Jon is scowling in the photo, but it’s effectiveness is ruined by the plastic spoon hanging out from the corner of his mouth. Martin swallows a laugh as he angles the screen towards Jon.

“You sure you're okay with my friends seeing this?”

“I honestly could not care less,” Jon replies airily. He waves his plastic spoon in the air dramatically. “My life’s already a mess, might as well make someone laugh.”

“I see.” Martin hums, returning his attention to his own ice cream cup, forgotten in his booth. In the one week he's known Jon, he's learned not to pry about his life too much. His ice cream's mostly liquid. “Ugh.” He’d toss it if it wasn’t Jon who’d bought it for him. Vanilla this time. 

_(“You know,” Martin had said the third time Jon pressed a cone into his hand. “I like things other than strawberry.”_

_“Oh.” Jon had looked so sheepish, Martin felt bad. “Sorry, I just wanted it to be a surprise so I didn’t ask about flavour outright.”_

_“Ah, it’s alright,” Martin replies, weirdly touched. A surprise. Damn. That’s cute, he’s cute. “For the record, I- hm. You know what? Bet you can’t guess my favourite.”_

_He’d thought Jon would try to then and there, list off flavours in the same tone he’d recited the science behind emulsifiers. Instead, Jon tilted his head, smiled (oh so charmingly) and put his hand out. Martin took it, although he hadn’t understood at the time._

_“It’s a deal then.”)_

Jon is looking at him closely now.

“That’s a no to vanilla then?”

“It’s alright,” Martin replies with a half smile. “Not my favourite though.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll have to keep bothering you then.”

“Oh, how awful,” Martin says, not meaning it whatsoever.

\- - -

“You -” Martin says, pointing to Jon, “- have some things to tell me.”

It’s all he can say because this time, it’s just busy enough for him to not be able to slack and chat with Jon but not too busy that he can’t stop thinking about Tim’s texts in the group chat once he’d sent the picture. Sasha had been the first to reply.

Sasha: hm. Alright he’s cute in a rat sort of way. Still no proof of him riding the merry go round though

Martin: >:(

He’d pocketed his phone with a huff and ignored the following buzzes, until their number was alarming.

Tim: BSFDHSDGSH  
Tim: NO FUCKING WAY

Sasha: ???

Tim: THATS THE LEAD SINGER  
Tim: OF THAT BAND YOU KNOW??? THE ONE MELANIE LIKES

Sasha: What  
Sasha: OH the one that broke up with all the drama? Didn’t she cry? in that angry melanie way?

Tim: that’s the one!!!!  
Tim: holy FUCK martin, you have a crush on the most dramatic singer I’ve ever seen onstage  
Tim: i swear i worry about that guys throat every time melanie forced me to watch a video of them

Sasha: videos huh?

Cue a bunch of links that Martin had clicked on and watched with an open mouth.

Sasha: oh my god? Oh my god. Martin. Martin you like this man?  
Sasha: soft, tea loving, poetry writing, lofi charm Martin likes this man?

Tim: I KNOW  
Tim: martin please respond this is the best fucking day of my life

It goes on and on, accompanied by a few private messages from Melanie asking _what the hell Tim is on about, he’s been flooding her texts and calls, god, Martin please, what is going on._ He’d been too stunned to reply, deciding to talk to Jon first, make sure this was actually what was happening because he couldn’t believe that soft spoken Jon, who bought him ice cream every other day, managed to… to do whatever the beautiful chaos was going in those videos. If Jon was the one who wrote the lyrics then Martin’s glad he hadn’t looked at his poetry.

Right now Jon is blinking nervously at him, a few meters away from his booth as Martin gives out tickets to eager kids and less eager parents. He beckons Jon forward after hitting the button. That’s when he realizes Jon is wearing glasses. That’s new. His heart gives an odd sort of double beat.

“You- you wear glasses?” He blurts out.

“Oh.” Jon’s hand rearranges them against his nose in a practiced gesture. “I do, been a while though. I wear contacts sometimes but mostly I forget, my sight’s not that bad.” He pauses, shifts from one leg to another. “Was that… all?”

“What? Oh! Sorry- I-“ Martin cuts himself off with a laugh. “When were you gonna tell me you’re apart of a band?”

Jon’s gaze drops to his feet.

“ _Was,_ ” he mumbles.

“Sorry?”

“I was apart of a band, I’m not anymore.” 

“Right. _Right._ Sorry. I was just- sorry Jon, I was just… surprised, I guess.” Jon frowns, pursing his lips. “Not- not in a _bad_ way! You- did you write the lyrics?”

Jon fiddles with his own hands. 

“Some of them. It was kind of a collective thing, aside from a few songs here and there.” He looks up, finally meeting Martin’s eyes. “Why?”

“Ah- they’re good- really good. I liked them.” Jon smiles then, but his face is still pinched like he ate something particularly sour. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Martin says gently. “I was just curious. We can stop talking about it.”

“It’s alright, we split up, what was it, five months ago? A bit after Georgie and I… hmm.” Jon goes back to looking like he just bit into a lemon. “I think I’m going to get ice cream now.”

“O-okay.”

Jon seems to take a lot more time than usual. Martin wrings his hands. As soon as Jon silently hands him a cone (stracciatella this time) he opens his mouth.

“Do not apologise.”

Martin quickly shuts his mouth. He huffs.

“But-“

“I already told you it’s alright.” He takes a deep breath. “Georgie- she was on bass- we were, um, together. The band was her idea actually, but, ah, time passed and we all didn’t get along so well. Then me and Georgie-“ His voice drops to a murmur. “-broke up and it was kind of the tipping point. It’s stupid but I still feel so awful even now and-“

Then the worst possible thing happens. Jon’s voice catches in his throat and he starts crying. Well. It’s more like tears trickle down his face as he shovels ice cream down his mouth in an unsuccesful attempt to muffle his sobs.

“Jon- _Jon_ , stop, you’ll choke.” Jon makes a vaguely irritated noise that could be understood as ‘don’t care’. Martin catches his wrist and Jon lets him, head dropping. In the background the merry-go-round whines it’s music. A few kids are craning their necks to watch. “Look, duck behind the booth for a second, okay? I’ll be with you soon, there’s tissues.”

He fiddles with the latch to let Jon in. He scurries inside and drops to the floor almost immediately. He tucks himself under the counter, head on his knees, practically leaning against Martin’s legs. He’s small. Martin could probably carry him with not too much effort. The thought is so startling that his grip tightens on the cone and the two straciatella scoops fall right onto Jon’s left shoe.

“Shit.”

Jon looks up. Sees his shoe and the crushed cone in Martin’s hand, and his tear stained face frowns as he pieces it together.

“I really thought you would like straciatella,” he mumbles, seemingly disappointed.

Martin looks at him, mouth agape. He has to look away a second later to stop himself from snorting with laughter. Instead, he hits the stop button, waves the children away and finally finds himself composed enough to talk to Jon. He sees that the queue is nonexistent now.

“I think I’m going to close early today.” As soon as he’s said that, Jon starts protesting. “Shush you. Simon doesn’t care whatsoever.”

“Simon?” Jon sniffs.

“He’s the actual owner of this thing. He used to be the head of a whole amusement park way back, but there was an accident with one of the rollercoasters and it closed. If you’re curious just look up ‘Fairchild Fun Park’.”

He’s just babbling now, trying to make conversation as Jon wipes his face with his sleeve, using the tissues Martin hands him to mop up his shoe instead. 

“He sounds… interesting.”

His voice is still unsteady. Martin feels horrible.

“That’s one way to put it.” Martin chuckles, making his way out of the booth. “You can stay here, I just have to bring the curtains down.”

Jon gets to his feet and watches him, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Just curtains? Is that safe?”

“Well, the booth get completely shut and locked so no one can access the controls, and the zoo itself provides enough security after that. Besides,” he adds, tugging on a rope to release a curtain. “I don’t think people are very tempted to steal neon plastic horses. Too much of a hassle to get them off the ride for it to be worth it. Plus, who exactly would want one? And why?”

He’s rambling again but sees that Jon is smiling at him. He swallows as he makes his way back to the booth.

“Are you- do you feel better?”

Jon drops his gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He’s embarrassed, Martin realises.

“Yes, sorry about that, I-I’m- it’s not even the band or Georgie- we’re friends now, me and her- I mean it’s partly that but-“ He flicks his hands about agitatedly. “I just- I have no idea what to do now I’ve graduated, and I don’t have anything else going on other than school. It’s pathetic.” He hangs his head. Martin fights the urge to pat it.

“It is not,” he protests a little too vigorously. “You’re just going through a rough patch right now, happens to everyone, okay?” He squeezes back into the booth, reaches out before catching himself and hesitating. “Do you… can I give you a hug?”

He sees Jon swallow, eyes still misty.

“Yes please,” he says in a small voice.

Despite being small, Jon still manages to completely wrap his arms around Martin’s torso. There’s a clingy desperation to it that makes something in Martin’s chest ache. He should say something now, something warm and reassuring and needed.

“It’s not my favourite by the way.”

Not that. Jon parts from him a little, confusion in his watery eyes.

“What?”

“Stracciatella. It’s not my favourite. Just saying so you don’t buy it again.”

Jon snorts, regretfully untangling himself from Martin and shaking his head. 

“I’ll keep that in mind then,” he says as he gets out so Martin can properly close the booth. 

“You’re getting close though.” He locks the side door and brings down the shutter at the front over the countertop. When he turns around, Jon is frowning. “What?”

“I’ve brought you all the flavours here. How come you didn’t like any of them?”

He crosses his arms in an adorable pout. Martin has to turn away again, on the pretense of fiddling with the shutter’s padlock.

“I did like them, Jon, and I really appreciate you getting me ice cream. It’s just that none of them were my favourite.” He can’t help a mischieveous smile then. “And the selection here is on the sparse side, don’t you think?”

Jon gasps. 

“It’s not here is it? Your favourite?” Martin just shrugs but starts chuckling. Jon slaps his shoulder. “You- _Damn_ you Martin!”

“You never asked!”

“You- you!!“ 

They’re both laughing by now. He can tell Jon is trying to remain exasperated but his snorts betray him. 

“ _Damn you Mahtin!_ ” He mocks and Jon hits him again.

“Stop it!” He’s giggling. Martin never thought Jon could giggle. “People are staring!”

He tries to dissimulate his laughter in a cough but it’s still a while till either of them can properly speak.

“You’re terrible,” Jon says, still flushed in the face from laughing. Martin finds himself grinning. “But I made a deal and I’m sticking to it. There’s an ice cream parlor nearby, right?”

_Don’t get your hopes up,_ he tells himself firmly.

“So there is.”

“Are you free tomorrow then? I have something in the afternoon, but at seven maybe?”

Martin’s heart does that thing again, skips a beat then gives one too many as if to remediate it.

“Sure.”

He’s proud at how casual it comes out and hopes Jon doesn’t notice him tapping his foot. Jon smiles at him before checking his phone. His eyebrows raise and Martin thinks that he really is in trouble because even that is cute.

“I need to get going, I’ll meet you there alright?”

“Sure,” Martin says again, trying not to smile too hard. “Sounds good.”

As soon as Jon is out of sight however he punches the air in triumph, lets his feet dance a few steps, even give a twirl before realising he’s still very much in public and blushing hotly. It doesn’t stop him from practically sauntering back to his apartment.


	2. rum and raisin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon panics, Georgie comes to the rescue, Daisy third wheels threateningly from a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter goes out to all the ppl graduating/have graduated/ graduating soon who were relating to Jon last chapter, stay strong kings queens monarchs.

Jon didn’t actually have anywhere to be, he just had no idea how to continue the conversation from there on out. Hey, thanks for letting me cry while you were hard at work and giving me a hug like a lost little kid, by the way do you wanna hear more about emulsifiers? God. Smooth, Jonathan, very smooth.

The embarassment of it all is enough for him not to realise what he did exactly until halfway back to his house. A quiet but wholehearted ‘fuck’ escapes his mouth and he finds himself leaning against a nearby building, typing out a text to Georgie.

Georgie: christ jon, you’ve been typing for 45 seconds what is it?

Jon: ???  
Jon: Why were you just looking at my chat?

Georgie: eh, call it a sixth sense  
Georgie: do you wanna come over? i don’t really feel like reading fifty paragraphs no offence

Jon: Alright. Give me ten minutes.

He pockets his phone, hurrying to the closest underground station.

Georgie and him hadn’t left each other on the best of terms, which is a nice way of saying they’d yelled at each other long enough for Jon’s throat to hurt before he’d slammed a door and cried on a park bench for two hours. After the band dissolved, they still found they would spend a lot of time together because of classes so after unsuccesfully trying to dodge one another for a month or so, Jon was ready to swallow his pride and apologize, try to make up but Georgie beat him to it. They gradually went back to being solid friends and, even though at one point it hurt to say it, they worked much better that way.

“Geez Jon,” Georgie said after opening her door. “What happened? Are you alright?”

He suddenly remember that he’d been bawling his eyes out less than an hour ago.

“Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She raises an eyebrow at him and he waves her off. “Really Georgie, it’s nothing new.”

“Suuure. Go wash your face in the bathroom then we’ll talk.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

A few minutes later and he’s curled in a corner of Georgie’s couch, the Admiral on his lap. She has a housemate who’s thankfully not there at the moment, he doesn’t actually think he’d ever been invited when said housemate was around. Huh. Probably intentional on Georgie’s part.

“Okay,” Georgie says setting a cup of water in front of him. “Spill. What’s going on?”

“I…” He worries at his bottom lip. Maybe Georgie wasn’t the best person to talk to about this. But, hell, she’s one of his closest friends and he’s already here. “I think I asked someone on a date by accident.”

“Oooh.” She shakes her head. “Of course you did.”

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?!”

She nudges at him with her foot.

“You know exactly what it means. Jonathan Sims would never have the guts to ask someone out intentionally. Who is it?”

He scowls.

“You don’t know him.”

“Is it that guy with the merry-go-round?”

Jon stares at her, slightly ruffled. He takes a sip of water, careful not to shift the Admiral as he reached for the glass.

“Maybe.” Another sip. “How did you know?”

Georgie rolls her eyes.

“Come on, Jon.” She starts counting the reason on her fingers. “You won’t stop going on about him. You let him take a selfie with you and then cropped it to set it as his profile picture on your phone. You only did that with me and Daisy! And I’m pretty sure mine is of the Admiral. Plus you buy him ice cream practically every day!” She waves her three outstretched fingers at him. “Pretty obvious to me!”

“But I didn’t want to ask him out on a date!”

“Then text him and step out. Explain.”

“But I still want to get him ice cream,” he whines.

“Platonically?”

Jon finds that his face is burning. He buries it into the Admiral’s fur. He hears Georgie giggle.

“Shut up. Yes. No. Maybe. You tell me.”

“I think that you should just go and see where it takes you. Maybe you’ll click maybe you won’t and you can make that clear by the end of the night. There! Easy.” She did make it sound easy. Jon lets his shoulders relax, scratching the Admiral behind the ear. But another new horror dawns on him. Georgie sees his face and laughs. “Now what?”

“What am I going to wear?”

\- - -

The store Georgie drags him to the next morning is one he’s been to before once, holding her hand and laughing at some joke as they rifled through secondhand clothes together. It feels very different. It’s smaller than he remembers and smells strongly of marijuana. It’s disgusting but he finds himself smiling remembering what Martin had said about him that first night he’d decided it a good idea to clamber onto a pink plastic horse.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Georgie singsongs, clapping a hand to his back. “Come on lover boy, find an outfit before getting ahead of yourself.”

He frowns slightly at her but nods and they start sorting through old shirts. Most of them have weird off brand logos obnoxiously covering the chest or sleeves. Georgie picks out a black ‘Nikee! Just it.’ one for herself with a snort. Jon fondly rolls his eyes and steps away, wandering through the racks of clothes, letting his hand brush along them. His nails hit something made out of velvet and he grimaces, quickly retracting his fingers into a fist. That’s when the skirt catches his eye.

It’s burgundy, faded at the edges, so long that for a second he thought it a dress. It’s not pleated but when he holds it up it cascades in elegant folds. The fabric is soft with wear, so nice between his fingers especially after the offending velvet.

“Nice grandma skirt,” Georgie says, suddenly next to him and he drops it like it’s white hot. She sees his expression. “Oh no, I’m sorry, you like it don’t you?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, instead picking it up from the floor and holding it up to Jon’s hips.

“Georgie!” He hisses, shrinking away in mortification.

“Seems about your size. I have a shirt back home that could go well with it if you want.”

She hands it to him and he swats her hand away.

“I am not buying a skirt.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“You were always burrowing mine though, go on Jon.” He shakes his head determinedly and she sighs, laying the skirt in the crook of her arm along with the shirt. “I’ll get it for myself then.”

A few hours late and they’re back in Georgie’s flat, Jon running his hand through the Admiral’s fur as he purrs happily. Georgie grimaces at him as she chucks two empty pizza boxes down the bin.

“Stop rubbing your greasy hands on my cat’s fur,” she says.

“He seems to like it.”

“He’s not a napkin Jon!” She’s distracted by a distant ‘ding!’ from somewhere in the apartment. “Oh, drying’s done!”

Georgie had shoved her shopping in the washing machine as soon as they’d arrived. Smart, seeing that they had no clue where they might have been. Jon wouldn’t have thought of it but it didn’t matter because he ended up being empty handed anyways. He sighs. Black jeans and band tshirt it is then.

“Jon!”

“Mm?”

“Think fast!”

He promptly receives a soft bundle in the face. The Admiral gives a confused meow and gingerly hops off him.

“Georgie! What-“ He pulls it off his head and examines it. A grey shirt and… oh. “Georgie.”

“I added my shirt like I said! Try them on.”

“Georgie-“

“Don’t you dare try to give it back to me, I-“

“Georgie!”  
“What?!”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “That’s alright Jon. Will you try them on?”

He hesitates. Then nods and wordlessly makes his way to the bathroom.

The skirt slips on easily. It’s a little loose around the hips but it’s fine otherwise. Jon smiles at the feeling of the fabric swishing around his ankles. He stops when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. His reflection is blushing and looking vaguely aggravated. He looks away, hurriedly pulling his shirt off and wiggling into Georgie’s. It fits him weirdly perfectly. 

“Georgie,” he calls out as he steps back into the living room. “This is my shirt.”

“Oh. Damn, I really thought I’d returned everything. Oh.” She’s gaping at him now. “Oh wow! Jon you look so good!”

“No, no-“  
“Yes, yes! It suits you! Hold on a second.” She disappears into her room and emerges with a pair of brown wingtip shoes. “Here.”

“Oh- I-“ They’re nice. The sort of nice with a high price tag. “Are you sure?”

“ ‘course! I want them back though.”

“Yeah, I’ll return them after a year or so, just like you did with my shirt.” Georgie gives him a look. “Joking! Joking, Georgie.”

He puts them on and frowns.

“They’re a little big.”

“Nah.” Georgie pats his head. “You’re just small, and it’s not like you’re gonna go hiking in them. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You think so?”

“Yup.”

“I’m not just talking about the shoes.”

“Yes Jon.” She squeezes his hand tight. “You’ll be fine.”

\- - -

Jon is a half hour early, rocking on his heels when he isn’t pacing in front of the shop. Both are terrible ideas as he keeps tripping in Georgie’s too-big shoes. He tries to get rid of the nervousness by shaking his head instead and his braid promptly slaps him in the face. Just when he’s unceremoniously spitting out hairs from his mouth, he hears a voice behind him.

“Jon?”

It’s astonished but he recognises the softness of it and whips around in his haste, receiving, once again, his braid to the face.

“Martin.” He says solemnly. “Hello. You’re early.”

“Oh- hi! Yes, I-I guess I didn’t want to miss a second, you know?” His eyes are wide and unblinking. Jon tries to stay still and succeeds for only a few seconds. Martin quickly looks to the ground. “Ah- you- you look lovely.” He smiles. “Nice shoes.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice embarassingly soft. “You- you look nice as well.” It comes out stiff, making him wince slightly. Martin laughs.

“Well, if I’d known you were gonna look like this I’d have dressed up a little more.” He runs a hand through his curls. They’re damp as though freshly washed and carefully brushed. His clothes are nothing noteworthy but are immaculate and ironed. Jon feels his stomach clench. Martin put in effort to see him, even came horrendously early like he did. 

“I mean it though.” And without thinking too hard about it he links his arm with Martin’s. “Let’s go inside.”

Martin nods, his smile digging two dimples in his face. Jon has to look away. It’s just too much. He pushes the door open with his free arm and pulls Martin inside. It’s just busy enough that they can blend in comfortably but not too busy that Jon feels like he’s suffocating. He heaves a little sigh of relief.

“Oooh.” Martin’s eyes are scanning the shop. It’s a mock imitation of a fifties ice cream parlor (extremely american, yes, but charmingly so), though obviously a little more shiny and embellished. “I’ve never actually been in here before. It’s cute!”

Jon tries not to look too pleased. From the way Martin’s eyes crinkle playfully he’s pretty sure he failed. He feels himself start to blush and quickly untangles himself from Martin’s arm.

“I-I’ll get the ice cream okay? You go find a place for us to sit.”

“But I haven’t told you what I want yet!”

“That’s the whole point Martin.” He gives him a little push. “Go.”

“At least let me pay this time then.”

“Absolutely not.”

Martin rolls his eyes but walks towards the booths, leaving Jon to order. He joins the small queue and is eventually greeted by a familiar face.

“Daisy.”

“Jon.”  
“I keep forgetting you work here now.” His lips twitch. “The uniform does not suit you.”

She scowls at him, somehow doing it fondly. 

“Order or get out Jon. Two scoops of rum and raisin in a cup?”

“Mm. Just one actually, and one licorice please.” She makes a face. “You can hardly judge. I’ve never seen you try anything other than lemon sorbet.”

“Clearly the superior flavour,” she replies, serving the ice cream in a round glass dish. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Hmm. Cookie dough. And matcha. Oh! And sweet potato. In one of those glasses you use for milkshakes with a cone on the side.” Daisy raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

When he hands her the money, she glances at a neighbouring coworker, see they’re busy then waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it.” He frowns and stuffs the notes into the tip jar. “Dammit Jon, I’m trying to be nice to you.”

“Too bad,” he retorts grabbing the ice cream.

“Fine. No more nice Daisy. You’re introducing him to me when my shift’s over.”

“Daisy.” He feels his face flush. 

“Oh, and they’re looking for new employees here. Basira quit and they wanted to get someone else anyways because of summer customers so they’re pretty desperate. Though you migh want a job after the whole…” She waved vaguely. “…Magnus bookshop thing.”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you Daisy, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And good luck.” She winks. Jon glares at her before walking away.

He catches Martin waving him to a booth against the shop window and ignores the feeling of Daisy’s eyes on his back as he scurries over.

“Right,” Martin says as he sets the glass in front of him and slides into the facing seat. “Walk me through this.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough because you said Straciatella was close, matcha green tea because you always keep a thermos of it in your booth and sweet potato because-“ He found that he was stumped. “-I guess I just thought it suited you,” he says dumbly.

Martin beams at him all the same. Jon had never really understood the idea of someone beaming till he’d met Martin. When he smiled it was like being gently warmed by the morning sunlight. 

“Jon?”

Shit. Martin had been talking. Shit.

“Ah- Sorry, I was… thinking.”

“What about?” Martin puts a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Oh, ish good,” he mumbles, mouth full.

“Er.” Shit. Shit! “I was thinking of getting a job here.” 

“Seriously?” Martin’s eyes flick to Daisy, handing a cone to a child. “You’re going to wear that?”

“Ah.” He frowns. “I suppose I will. Won’t be as bad as my last job.”

“Oh?” Martin nibbles at the cone. “I’m curious now.”

“I worked in the Magnus bookstore. It’s not too far, maybe you heard of it?”

Martin taps his spoon against his lip thoughtfully. It’s adorable.

“It sounds familiar. Can’t say I’ve been there though.”

“It- well it’s a long story.” Martin rests his chin on the hand without the spoon, looking at him intently. He laughs. “But I guess we have the time.”

It’s such a ridiculous, long winded anecdote that Jon doesn’t often tell it but he found it so easy to let his tongue completely unwind with Martin. By the time he’s done, Martin had choked twice on his ice cream and was now laughing. 

“Christ, Jon, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing but what the actual hell, I can’t believe it.” He wipes a smear of ice cream from his lips. “That’s so much happening for one place. It burning down is like some sort of horrible grand finale.”

“Good riddance if you ask me.”

“And you still don’t know who started the fire?”

“Well. If by ‘you’ you mean the public and the authorities, then no.”

Martin chokes on his spoon for the third time this evening.

“You know?”

“Maybe.”

“And you didn’t say anything?!”

“He didn’t mean to!” Because Gerry hadn’t, he just meant to burn part of the books, not the entire damn store, so Jon had turned a bit of a blind eye when questioned. “He just has a bit of a pyromaniac streak, that’s all. Quite sweet when you get to know him.”

Martin snorts.

“You-” he says, pointing to Jon with his spoon. “-are full of surprises. This is probably the most interesting first date I’ve ever been on.”  
Jon feels his chest tighten. His face is so hot he kind of wants to hold his ice cream against it. He contents himself with stirring it around the dish.

“Is- is this a date?” He blurts before he can stop himself.

Martin goes very still aside from a finger tap-tap-tapping on the rim of his glass.

“I- uh- I don’t know?” He says it slowly, softly almost whispering. “You’re the one who asked me to come so it’s up to you I suppose. Sorry.” He laughs, low and nervous. “I didn’t mean to get ahead of myself.”

“Oh- no, no, it’s fine- I was just- I was making sure- since I didn’t specify- but yes that’s what I intended, for this to be a date I mean. Well not at first- but now yes, definitely. I-I think” He puts his face in his hands, groaning. “I’m terrible at this, aren’t I?”

He sees Martin shrug between his fingers, pink to his ears.

“You’re not though,” he says and Jon’s heart hammered hard in his ribcage. “You even almost guessed my favourite ice cream today.”

“Almost?” He lets his hands drop from his face, pointing to Martin’s now empty glass. “Which one came close then?”“Ah,” Martin says. “That would be cheating. Guess you’ll just have to take me on another ice cream date.”

“I suppose I will. What a shame.”

Martin kicks him under the table.

\- - -

“Oh my god.”

Those are the first words out of Martin’s mouth when he enters the ice cream parlour two weeks later on Jon’s first day working there. Jon frowns at him. The uniform is still stiff with how new it is but the worst part is how it looks. A pale orange shirt marked with white stripes and a white apron to match. Jon had to buy white pants specially to adhere to the requirements. And then there’s the hat. Martin’s mouth twitches as he looks at Jon’s head and he abruptly turns away from him, facing the door from which he just entered but from his shaking shoulder, Jon knows he’s laughing. When he faces him again, he’s red-faced and teary-eyed, phone out. Jon hears the distinct ‘snap’ of a picture being taken.

“Martin!”

“I’m sorry,” Martin wheezes. “You’d never let me otherwise!”

“You don’t look sorry,” Jon grumbles.

“I’m just… I’m dazzled Jon!” He mimics being blinded, staggering forward an arm shielding his face. Eventually he drops himself on the countertop in front of the cash registrer, elbows atop it as he rest his chin on his hands, smiling that sunny smile up at Jon.

You’re the dazzling one, Jon thinks and even though the words don’t reach his mouth, he finds himself blushing at how embarassing it is. Thankfully the shop is empty. Martin is still looking up at him, doe-eyed and grinning.

“Can I help you?” Jon manages to squeak at him.

“Sure you can, gorgeous. Come here often?”

He shoves a giggling Martin off the countertop, flushing even deeper. 

“Daisy is right there,” he hisses.

“And she’s aware of our relationship and approves of it as she so eloquently made me understand,” Martin replies.

Jon cringes. Daisy was.. overprotective to put it lightly and had, well, she’d cornered Martin after their first date and they’d talked for a long, long time.

“Sod off Martin,” Daisy says, fiddling with one of the waffle irons they use to make cones. “I can ban you from the shop whenever I feel like it.”

“You wouldn’t!” Martin looks at Jon. “She wouldn’t, would she?”

“I… I honestly can’t be sure.”

“Ah, well, guess I’ll have to content myself with annoying just you then.”

“I also have the power to ban, you know.” It’s less sharp than he wants it to be.

“I mean, yeah, will you use it though?”

“He won’t,” Daisy says, plugging and unplugging the waffle iron in an attempt to make it work.   
“Daisy!”

She ignores him, frowning at the iron instead.

“Don’t use this one Jon, it’s been acting moody since yesterday.” She smiles. “Like you.”

At a loss of words, Jon just sticks out his tongue at her childishly. And hears another telltale ‘snap!’.

“Martin! For god’s sake!”

“Sorry, sorry! Last one, promise.” He’s looking at his phone smiling. “Aw.”

“I like this one Jon, keep him around for a while, will you?”

“Daisy, please!”

“I’m flattered.” Martin gives a little bow.

“You’re terrible, both of you. Absolutely terrible.”

\- - -

“I told you to not use that waffle iron,” Daisy grumbles at him.

“It’s- ah- ah! It’s fine Daisy!”

She’s changing his bandage for him, maybe being just a tiny little bit rough on purpose but relents as soon as he squeaks. She sighs heavily once she’s done and he weakly flexes his fingers.

“Don’t. I can’t believe you tried to catch it when it fell,” she grumbles.

“Yes, I know it was stupid, alright? My own fault.”  
“It is not. That new girl-“

“Jude Perry.”

“Her. She’s the one who knocked it over.”

“Yes, but she’s not the one who decided to catch it with a bare hand.”

She huffs at him, clearly disagreeing but choosing not to argue. She was the one to rush him to the A&E earlier and he couldn’t be more thankful but it didn’t stop their annoyed siblings pantomine taking over as it always does. Jon still lets himself soften for a second.

“Thank you Daisy.” Another huff but she pats his leg to signal that yeah, of course you idiot. He smiles at her then sits up straight suddenly. “Wait, what time is it?” Daisy shrugs and he struggles to get his phone from his pocket with his non-dominant hand. He groans. “I was supposed to meet up with Martin almost an hour ago! Can you pull up his number for me please?”

Daisy nods, taking his phone. With a start Jon realises she knows his password. That has to change. She hands it back to him.

“It’s dialing.”

He squeezes the phone between his shoulder and ear, tucking in a stray end of bandage. It goes on a while. He fidgets, switching it to his good hand. Weird. Usually Martin answers fairly quick.

“Hello?” The voice is faint on the other end.

“Martin! I-I’m so sorry I’m late, er, something came up. Are you still there? Do you still want to meet up?” He pauses. “Martin?”

“Ah- sorry Jon- I… um, it’s okay, I forgot if I’m honest.” His voice is still quiet as a whisper.

“Oh.” It was unlike him to forget. “Are- are you alright? You’re.. quiet.”  
“Yeah- yeah! I’m fine I just- my mum’s tired out and I don’t want to annoy- I mean- wake her. We kind of had an argument and it took a lot out of her.”  
Jon turns away from Daisy, who’s raising her eyebrows at him questioningly.

“You don’t sound fine,” he says gently. He didn’t know much about Martin’s home life, but he remembered the careful, strained smile he’d put on whenever he talked about it.

“I-“ There’s a noise too similar to a strangled sob and Jon aches. “I-I’m sorry.” A sniff.

“Martin?”

“I-I’m fine Jon, really, I just need a moment. I-I’m going out now to Tim’s- my friend’s house, it’ll help.” A pause. It would be quiet if it weren’t for Martin’s shaky breathing. “Could you…”

“Yes?”

“Could- could you come? I can text you the adress. There- there’s gonna be some of my friends there, but not a lot and they’re nice, I promise.” He was still speaking quietly but the words were rushed, desperate. “Please. I- I’d really like to see you.”

“Of course,” Jon says without even thinking about it for a second. “Anything you need.”

“Thank you,” Martin breathes out. “Thank you, Jon. See you there?”

“Yes. See you there, Martin.”

He ends the call and turns back to Daisy. Her mouth was curved in a teasing smile. It drops as soon as she sees him.

“Something bad happen?”

“I-I don’t know. I think so.” Jon chews his bottom lip. “Martin’s… I don’t know. He needs something right now.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says, rolling her eyes. “You, duh.”

Jon’s phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it, sees the address and gets up so quick he almost falls over.

“I’m going.”

“I see that. Good luck, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too tired to put all the italics, finals rly be kicking my ass!! might edit them back in later though hmmmm


	3. honeycomb heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THIS ART SOMEONE MADE FOR THIS!!!! ITS SO GOOD IM SO GLAD <3!!!! (if u ever do art of any of my pics pls tag me on Tumblr or comment here with a link I would 100% LOVE TO SEE IT!!!)
> 
> https://cenfitto.tumblr.com/post/618384598721871872/a-lil-messy-fanart-for-this-awesome-fic-i-read-by

Martin doesn’t register anything as he makes the short underground journey to Tim’s place. Melanie and Sasha are already there and the concern blowing up in their group chat is the only thing that makes Martin feel something other than soul crushing numbness. 

He blinks blearily and suddenly he’s on Tim’s doorstep, he presses the doorbell for a split second and the door flies open and suddenly Tim’s long arms are wrapped around him tightly. A dull pain blooms in his chest and he closes his eyes tight.

“Don’t Tim,” he says despite returning the hug. “I’ll cry.”

“I really, seriously, don’t mind Martin. I’m so glad you decide to actually tell us instead of holing it up like you usually do.”

Martin sniffs, rubbing a hand across his face. Tim separates from him and starts gently guiding him towards the living room.

“C’mon pal, Sasha made you a blanket nest and Melanie’s making french toast.”

Martin snorts.

“You didn’t have to do all this- seriously it’s stupid-“

“It is not Martin!” Melanie yells from the kitchen. “You put a ‘haha’ at the end of your text, it was super concerning!”

“It was?” He sniffs again harder. Oh god, he’s starting to actually, properly cry now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Shut up you dope,” Sasha says fondly. She puts a heavy knitted blanket around his shoulder. The weight of it makes him heave a little sigh between his hiccups. “Get on the couch, I’m putting a Ghibli movie on. Whisper of the Heart sound good?”

“I love you guys,” Martin manages to choke out, before properly starting to sob.

\- - -

Jon is so fidgety he can’t stand waiting for the tube, instead he books it towards the address Martin texted him, left arm aching from the grocery bags he’s carrying. He has them all in one hand, the one that isn’t burned severely from the waffle iron. He has to stop when he gets to the bottom of the building, bending over with a stitch in his side as he pants. He groans as he sees the ‘out of order’ sign on the elevator but climbs the stairs two at a time all the same.

He hesitates for a second in front of the door. Then he remembers Martin’s tone when he’d called him and hits the doorbell with his elbow. It would be awkward maybe, he’d only met Tim and Sasha once, when Martin had introduced them but surely-

“Jon? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Melanie?!”

He takes a step back in his surprise, almost bolts back to the stairs, truth be told. Him being on good terms with Georgie did not mean he was keen on Melanie. They didn’t hate each other per say, but if a person was a huge (maybe biggest) fan of your former band (including yourself) which you pushed to splitting up by having a dramatic break up with your girlfriend, then said person started dating said ex-girlfriend, then… well. It’s awkward. Very awkward. The kind of awkward Jon does his best to flee from.

“Jon?”

It’s another voice from inside this time. Jon almost doesn’t recognize it as Martin’s with how raw it sounds. He looks over Melanie’s shoulders and his chest tightens. Martin’s on the couch, surrounded by blankets and cushions, face flushed and streaked with tears. He puts his arms out and suddenly Jon’s legs are running out of their own accord, his own arms reaching out. He practically collapses on top of Martin with a soft ‘oof’ and pressing a kiss to Martin’s forehead, feeling warm arms wrap around his waist so, so tight.

“I’m here,” he mutters into Martin’s hair, feeling his shoulder shake. “I’m here.”

\- - -

Martin barely notices Sasha herding Tim and Melanie in the kitchen mumbling something about needing more french toast. He still makes a mental note to thank her later. He jerks his head back from Jon’s sweater to look up at his face.

“Thank you.” He sounds so pathetic he blushes. “F-for coming I mean.”

“Of course.” 

Jon smiles down at him, one of his hands stroking through his curls. Martin finds himself suddenly desperate to hold the other one. His eyes search for it then widen.

“Jon! You’re hurt!”

“Hm? Oh, yes it’s fine, patched it up at the A&E.”

“You went to the A&E?!” Martin thinks back. “Is this the ‘thing that came up’? Jon!” Jon waves him off with his bandaged hand and winces. Typical. Martin shifts and somethings digs into his side. He glances at it. A grocery bag. “What’s this then?”

“Oh. I- uh- I brought ice-cream.” Jon smiles sheepishly. “Still don’t know your favourite but it’s some of the ones you like. There’s enough for the others too.” He glances around. “Where are they by the way? I didn’t scare them off did I?”

Martin snorts.

“No, Jon. They just-“ He clears his throat. “They just wanted to give us a little- ah- a little privacy, you know?”

“Oh.” Jon blushes. He looks down, as if just realizing he’s straddling Martin’s lap. Martin thinks he’s gonna scuttle off then but instead he tilts his head in that cat-like manner of his and hums lightly. “That’s good because I’d quite like to kiss you right now.”

For a second, Martin can’t find his words. 

“N… now?”

“If- if you don’t mind. May I?”

Martin giggles giddily.

“You may.”

And for a few seconds, Jon becomes his whole world.

\- - -

“Oh good lord, I thought you’d be done by now.”

Jon jerks away from Martin’s mouth so violently he almost falls to the ground. He would’ve but Martin catches him, gently lowering onto the couch next to him instead. His eyelids are fluttering as though he just woke up from a wonderful nap. He gives a little sigh and buries his face in the crook of Jon’s shoulder. Melanie softens as she watches, setting down a plate of French toast on the table.

“Didn’t know you cooked,” Jon says. He can’t think of anything else for the life of him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sims.”

“Wait.” Martin lifts his head. “You guys know each other?”

“Melanie is Georgie’s girlfriend,” Jon replies, finding himself reaching up to touch Martin’s curls again. “We’re…. acquaintances.”

“Melanie’s girlfriend was in the same band as Martin’s boyfriend?” Tim appears suddenly, carrying even more french toast. Boyfriend. Ah. “Holy shit! You didn’t tell me!”

Melanie rolls her eyes.

“Thank you, Jon,” she says sarcastically. Her dryness is undermined by the fact that she hands Jon a plate that Tim passes her. The toast is lightly dusted with sugar.

“Sorry. I thought that- sorry- and um, could you put that on the table? I can’t exactly…” He waves his bandaged hand, the one that isn’t busy petting Martin.

“Of course.” Melanie sighs deeply. “These things always happen to you.”

“What does that mean? What things?” Martin sounds very curious. It’s endearing.

“Oh, Jon just has a habit of scarring himself in the weirdest ways possible. Who was it that stabbed you with a bread knife? Helen?”

“No, it was Michael. Helen only bullies me verbally,” Jon replies. Martin looks at him, astonished. “What?”

“You got stabbed with a bread knife?”

“Yes, you’d be surprised at the kind of regulars we had at the bookstore.”

Martin’s mouth is an ‘oh’ of shock.

“What was it this time?” Melanie asks, between bites of french toast.

“Waffle iron was falling.”

Jon catches Tim laughing through his mouthful of bread. 

“Wow Martin, your boyfriend gets more interesting by the second.”

Boyfriend. There it was again. The word sent a hot prickle down Jon’s neck, not entirely unpleasant. It spreads through his skin, OK ok enveloping him like one of the blankets layered on the couch.

“Yeah. My boyfriend.” Martin says it slowly, as though savouring it. He smiles. “That’s him.”

“Your boyfriend,” Jon says mostly to himself. The word rolls pleasantly off his tongue. He flushes when he sees that all eyes on him. Sasha laughs, shaking her head.

“You’re like newlyweds!”

“Makes you wish you weren’t single, eh Sash?”

He wiggles her eyebrows at her. She raises hers.

“Dream on, Stoker.” Her eye catches the bag at Jon’s feet. “Hey, is that ice cream?” Jon nods. “Yes! Hold on, I’ll get spoons!”

As it turns out French toast is best served warm, with assorted ice cream flavors lathered on top.

\- - -

Martin doesn’t break again until fifteen minutes later when Melanie is absolutely losing it over the idea of Jon on a merry-go-round and Jon is wearing an expression of eternal suffering. Martin decides to pull out the photo he took, just one week shy of meeting Jon. He’d forgotten it was a selfie. Seeing himself in the little screen is like a punch to the gut. The breath is knocked out of him and when it comes back it’s with a sob.

He tries to muffle the following ones with a hand and fails miserably. He lets Jon wrap him into a one armed hug and buries his face into his neck. He cries hard for about twenty minutes before finally peeking back out. He completely ruined Jon’s shirt. He tries to apologise and Jon rolls his eyes and shoves his remaining french toast into his mouth. By the time he’s swallowed he’d more or less calmed down.

“Shall I start the movie?” Sasha asks gently.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. Tim gets up to switch off the lights. Jon shifts closer to him in the dark, pressing comfortably against his side. He finds his eyes watering at the littlest things in the movie. Melanie plops a packet of tissues in his lap and he almost starts sobbing again. He feels Jon’s eyes on him.

“Sorry,” he whispers quickly, dabbing at his eyes. “This movie always makes me cry.”

“Sure,” Jon says, clearly not believing him. “And stop apologizing.”

“Sorr- ah. Never mind.”

Jon shakes his head at him. 

“I don’t have anymore toast to stuff down your mouth to stop you,” he sighs.

“You can always kiss me quiet,” Martin mumbles before he can stop himself. Thankfully the movie’s volume is cranked to the maximum and he’s the only close enough to see Jon’s cheeks darken.

“Maybe- maybe later.”

“Okay,” Martin says, trying not to sound too giddy. “Sounds good.”

\- - -

By the time the movie ends Martin has fallen asleep leaning against him. Jon doesn’t move a muscle, not even when the lights are switched back on and all of Martin’s friends crowd around them ‘aw’-ing. He’s sure his face is glowing though. Melanie glances at her watch and gasps.

“Shit, I have to go! I’m recording with Georgie for her podcast.” She leaps to her feet, hurriedly padding over to her shoes and coat by the door. She’s ready within seconds. “See you guys, tell Martin to text me when he wakes up.”

And just like that the only conscious person Jon is even slightly familiar with is gone. He’d have started fidgeting if it hadn’t been for Martin still soundly asleep on his shoulder. Sasha takes out her phone and he hears the ‘snap’ he’s now become so familiar with. Tim looks over her shoulder at the screen. Jon sighs.

“You really do frown in every single photo,” he states, very unnecessarily.

“Yep,” Jon says, because he has no idea what to say. “I do do that,” he adds since they’re stating the obvious.

“Nice to see you’re not like that all the time,” Sasha says, pocketing her phone. “You’ll be good with Martin.” She doesn’t say it like a question, but like she’s drawing a solution to a long lasting problem.

“Thank you?”

He must look as confused as he feels because Tim launches into an explanation, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders but careful not to jostle Martin.

“Listen. We’re just used to Martin pining for a few months to a year and then not acting upon it. Then all of a sudden he mentions a cute guy riding the merry-go-round and buying him ice cream and one week later he asks me how to style his hair for a date. Usually what happens is that Martin just ends up sighing a lot then eating a carton of honeycomb ice cream while listening to Regina Spektor.”

“Oh. I- honeycomb?”

Tim tilts his head.

“Uh- Yeah. It’s his favourite.”

Sasha slaps Tim’s arms.

“Tim that was their whole thing!”

“What- aw shit. Forget I said anything.”

“You- Martin told you about that?”

Somehow he’s only slightly mortified. Sasha rolls her eyes.

“Martin tells us everything about you.” She starts listing them, counting on her fingers.“Your favourite is rum and raisin, which he found and I quote, ‘cute in a grandpa kind of way’, you studied literature, you know surprisingly a lot about emulsifiers, you-“

Jon is not slightly mortified anymore, instead he wants to bury himself. Tim elbows her.

“Sash, enough, he’s turning into a tomato.”

Jon puts a hand to his cheek self consciously. It’s warm. The movement made Martin shift and further nuzzle his face into Jon’s neck, one of his arms going to rest around his waist.

“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Sasha says, sauntering to the door. “Try not to third wheel too hard Tim!” And that’s her last words as she makes a swift exit.

“I-I should go too,” Jon mumbles, trying to untangle himself from Martin. The grip around him tightens. “Um.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Tim is smirking. Jon is starting to not really like Martin’s friends.

“So you’re not gonna help me?”

Tim gives him a wink and finger guns, somehow excessively charming and dorky at the same time. Ah, Jon thinks, so he’s like that.

“It’s getting late anyways, just sleep over.”

“What? No, I can’t possibly-“

“Yes you can.” Tim’s already walking away, much to Jon’s horror. “There’s enough pillows and blankets. I’ll be in my room, holler if you need anything. Um, just one thing-” he adds “-don’t… do anything on my couch, yeah?”

“What?”

Tim sighs.

“Please don’t engage in intercourse and the like on my couch Jonathan. Good night.”

He can’t find his words until Tim’s door clicks shut. 

“I would not,” he grumbles indidgnantly to himself, face hot in the dark. “What kind of- who does he think I am?” He feels Martin wiggle against him and realises with a start that he’s trembling. For a terrifying two seconds, Jon thinks he’s crying again. Then: “Martin? Martin. Martin, are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” Martin manages between giggles. “I can’t- damn it, Tim. You just sounded so offended.”

“You were awake?”

“Yeah, not for long though, I just…” He looks up at Jon then looks away. “I just really wanted you to stay.”

Jon can’t even keep up the pretense of being exasperated. 

“You didn’t have to pretend to have fallen asleep,” he says with mild amusement at how Martin blushes. “Of course I’ll stay.”

\- - -

Martin’s nearly actually asleep when Jon clears his throat.

“Mm?”

“About what Tim said- don’t look at me like that I am not suggesting we go against his wishes!” Jon splutters. Martin feels very red in the face. “I just- it reminded me of something I forgot to tell you- um- I’m ace.”

“Oh. Okay.” And he called himself a poet.

“O… kay?”

Jon’s voice is even but Martin can feel how tense his hunched shoulders are.

“I meant- I meant that’s okay, yeah, it’s fine, I-I mean- thank you for telling me?” Martin stops then sighs hard. “That was horrendous. Can I start over? Oh, stop laughing you bastard.”

“Sorry, sorry, yes, you can start over but the message is quite clear.”

“The message that I acknowledge and respect it and that it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you?”

“Yes.” Jon buries his face in his shoulder. “Nice to hear you say it all the same,” he mumbles.

“Since we’re doing this, um, I’m trans and-“ Jon looks bewildred. “-and uh. Um. Yes?”

“Oh I just- sorry, it’s not-“ He laughs. “-what I mean to say is me too.”

“What? No way. Seriously?” Jon nods. “Huh!”

“Anyways, you were saying?”

“Hm? Oh! Uh, I’ve been wearing a binder for about nine hours so-“ He slides away from Jon who lets him with a sigh.

“You should take that off, yes.” He twists in the couch to look at Martin getting up. “Will you still be okay with cuddling?”

The last word sounds very out of place in Jon’s mouth. Martin’s feels his heart flutter.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Mhm. ’S fine.”

He rushes to Tim’s bathroom as quietly as he can, unceremoniously squirms out of his binder before scuttling back even quicker. He doesn’t even bother rounding the couch, instead hitching a leg over the back to immediately flop over Jon who squawks in surprise.

“Someone was in a rush,” Jon whispers, laughter on the edge of his voice.

“Shush.” He huddles against Jon. “We should do this more often. I never thought you’d be the cuddly type.”

“You’re the one clinging to me,” Jon mumbles.

“And do you want me to stop?” Martin asks. Jon wiggles in his arms and pouts. Martin wants to squeeze him terribly. “Exactly.”

He wiggles some more, gives his back to Martin.

“Spoon me,” he commands and Martin does, not without teasing him so much that Jon reaches back and smacks his leg. Martin retaliates by kissing the back of Jon’s neck, parting his hair to reach it properly. Jon squirms and Martin finds himself grinning devilishly.

“I say, Jonathan Sims, are you ticklish?”

Jon goes very still. Martin lets him think he’s gotten away with it for a second, then digs two fingers in the side of his neck and Jon squeals.

“NoO- Martin-“ He wheezes, arms batting uselessly. “We’ll wake Tim up, sto- Martin!” He dissolves in badly muffled giggles, failing to escape Martin’s grip and only managing to writhe his way to straddle Martin’s waist. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself!” He huffs. Martin just smiles up at him.

“I’d really like that second kiss right now,” he says softly.

Jon rolls his eyes.

“Fine. But do not try to tickle me. I’m serious.”

Martin nods, closing his eyes as Jon’s mouth meets his own. His mind goes comfortably blank, only conscious of the feeling of Jon’s hand cupping his cheek. He’s smiling when he parts, seeming satisfied at the way Martin blinks dazedly.

“Hi.” It’s all Martin can say.

Jon laughs, patting his cheek.

“Good night Martin.”

“Kiss me good night then.”

“I just did!”

“One more?”

Jon accords him a chaste peck on the lips before flopping half next to him, half on top of him. It shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does.

“Martin?” Jon whispers into his ear.

“Mhm?”

“Mm. Martin?”

“Yes Jon?”

“Can I ask you something?"

“ ‘Course.” He turns to Jon, sees him biting his lip. “Is everything okay?”

Jon nods but continues nibbling at his lower lip.

“You’re not- you’re not sad because of me, are you?”

Martin blinks.

“What?”

“I know you said it was your mother, and I don’t really know much about your situation but- but you started crying right after looking at that picture of me, you know the first one? Then Tim remarked that I frown in every photo and I-I know I’m not exactly the sunniest person to be around, so I thought- I don’t know, I’m sorry if I upset you is what I mean to say,” Jon blurts it out in a rush, hanging his head.

Oh. Oh.

“Oh Jon, no, that’s not it at all, really. I just-“ He flounders slightly. “It was me, me in the photo that made me… yeah, don’t- don’t worry about it.”

“But you look lovely!”

He sounds so earnest that Martin tries hard to smile but instead finds himself closing his eyes tightly.

“Just… don’t Jon, okay?” His voice wobbles, then cracks. “I look like my dad.”

He feels Jon’s hands flutter agitatedly around his face before one of them settles on his cheek, thumb wiping at a tear trickling down the side of his nose.

“Is- is he not good then?”

Martin makes a vague, non-commital noise.

“It’s a long story.” He sniffs. “I’ll tell it to you some other time, okay?”

“Okay,” Jon says, hand still cradling Martin’s face. Martin kisses his palm. “Ah…”

“You’re adorable,” Martin sighs, reaching for Jon’s hand to plant a second kiss on his knuckles. His other hand goes to touch Jon’s face. It’s warm. “And an easy blusher.”

“I am not adorable,” Jon grumbles, very adorably. “You are.”

“No-“

“Yes!”

Jon’s sudden vivacity makes him giggle.

“Shhh! You’ll wake Tim up!”

“Yes -” Jon says, lowering his voice. “- you are. You have dimples Martin.” He says it with a tone of finality, like it’s a winning argument. 

Martin opens his mouth to protest and is interrupted by Jon’s lips. Jon is smiling triumphantly when they part. 

“You make a compelling argument,” Martin murmurs.

“I know. Now seriously, I’m exhausted, I haven’t been around so many people at once since my band broke up. Good night.”

“Jon, we were five if we count ourselves.”

“I know. And I said good night Martin.”

“Night Jon.”

\- - -

Jon wakes up the next day with terrible hair and no access to a comb. He spends the morning with a half-hearted scowl on his face at Tim’s chirpy laughter and Martin’s badly hidden smiles. He does his best to pat it down and brush it through with his fingers, especially as he and Martin leave, Tim parting from them with a wink, still oozing with charm despite his equally tousled hair.

“Still grumpy then?” Martin asks as they go down the stairs.

“You would be if you hadn’t brought a change of clothes,” Jon grumbles accusingly, tucking his hair into what could generously be called a messy bun. Martin glances at it, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I’m doing this one-handed Martin, do stop laughing.”

“Just-“ He reaches a hand up. “Can I, Jon?”

“Wh- Here?”

“I’m not in a hurry. Like, really not. Are you?”

“I mean- I suppose not.”

Martin shifts his backpack to his arm and sets it down before plopping down on the stairs himself. He pats the step just below the one he’s on meaningfully.

“Go on then.”

Jon rolls his eyes but complies. 

“You’re really avoiding going back, aren’t you?”

He sounds more worried than he’d like, despite his effort on keeping his tone light. 

“Oh Jon, I didn’t know you cared! It’s fine, I have some distant cousin staying with her and helping her out.” He combs his fingers through Jon’s hair. “Oooh. Soft.”

Martin had very deftly avoided the question and also distracted Jon by being stupidly cute.

“Right.” It’s hard to keep focused with Martin’s unhurried brushing. “Couldn’t you have chosen to waste time someplace else though? Maybe a park or a nice cafe?”

“I dunno, this is already kinda romantic don’t you think?”

“What? A musty stairwell? Seriously?”

He feels Martin pulling his hair into sections, the familiar sensation of someone braiding his hair making him sink slightly against Martin’s leg with a sigh.

“Yes! It’s just out of sight of others, daylight shining softly through stained glass windows-“

“Pretty sure the glass is just yellowed with age, Martin.”

“Shush, I’m not done! Anyways. Yes, soft light coming from the windows, so you can see, but it’s dim and all honey coloured and -stop laughing I’ll pull your hair- and it just makes it the perfect place to kiss, don’t you think?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, but clearly you you’ve been thinking a lot about it. “ Martin tugs at the now completed braid. “Ouch.”

“I warned you, you awful man.”

But when Jon tips his head back, Martin’s smiling, despite looking slightly embarrassed.

“Perfect place to kiss, eh?”

It comes out unexpectedly soft, making him flush. Martin’s cheeks darken as though in sympathy.

“I-I didn’t mean- well I did but-“

Jon huffs. Well. He tries to, but honestly it’s more of a laugh.

“You can kiss me if you like Martin.”

Martin looks at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s the sun. But it only lasts a second. Martin bites his lip,eyes suddenly distant. Jon tries not to look too disappointed. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin says quickly. From his tone, Jon knows he failed at not looking disappointed. He shifts so he can face him uprights.

“It’s fine, really, are- is everything okay?”

Martin gives a too-small smile.

“I just- I don’t want to go back home. And I feel like I’m just doing this to waste time.” His smile strains into a grimace before dropping. “That’s all.”

“You can come to mine,” Jon finds himself saying. “I don’t mind you spending the night, if you like,” he added without thinking, then realising that he, in fact, did not mind.

“Yeah?” Martin says, a little doubtfully.

“I can get ice cream. And I have tea. And better blankets than Tim.”

“Yeah?” Martin repeats. He’s smiling now, eyes crinkling.

“They’re very cozy,” he insists. That earns him a weak chuckle.

“Sounds tempting,” Martin muses.

“Good.”

“Honestly thought you were gonna try to drag me to an ice cream place again.”

“We could-“

“No, no, I wasn’t suggesting, it wouldn’t be as fun now that you know.”

Jon blinks. Then sighs, high and frustrated.

“So you _were_ awake. I hoped you were asleep when Tim told me at least.”

Martin bumps his forehead against Jon’s, he stays there and it’s warm and perfect, so much that Jon almost forgets to be irritated.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Jon replies. “S’fine. I would’ve guessed at some point anyways. Probably in the near future.”

“You-” Martin says, turning his fae to press a kiss to Jon’s left cheek, “-sound awfully confident about that.”

“I mean, it does suit you, doesn’t it?”

“Like- what was it- sweet potato does?” Martin murmurs it into his cheek. It’s a pleasant tickle against his skin. Jon relaxes against him.

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

Somehow that makes Martin blush darkly. His face retreats into the space between Jon’s neck and shoulder.

“Are you calling me sweet?”

It’s Jon’s turn to color.

“I-I guess I am. Though I really thought I had you with cookie dough.”

“Well. I mean honeycomb is my favourite but kind of because of it’s aesthetic, you know? In terms of flavour, I would go for cookie dough, or plain chocolate cause I’m boring.”

Jon sits up, probably a little suddenly since Martin startles slightly, blinking behind his round glasses.

“What do you mean because of it’s _aesthetic_?”

“Well I-“ Martin puts his chin out as if in defiance. “-I just thinks it’s a nice color and idea and just a nice word! ‘Honeycomb’s my favourite ice cream’ sounds so much better than ‘oh yeah I like cookie dough like every other person on earth’.”

“Do- are you serious?” Jon tries to pull on the exasperation he’d felt earlier, but all he can find is giddy laughter. “Is this another of your-“ He puts his hands up to emphasize his statement with air quotes. “- ‘lo-fi charm’ things?”

“I-“ Martin crosses his arms. “So what if it _is_?”

Jon’s practically snorting, half draped over Martin’s lap. It would be mortifying if it wasn’t so hilarious.

“Do- do you decorate your room with fairy lights and polaroid photos then?” Martin gives him a look. “You do! _You do!_ ”

“You’re lucky you look so lovely when you laugh,” Martin huffs and that shuts him right up, heart suddenly leaping to his throat

“I…” Jon tries to collect himself, patting down his hair which had somehow gotten dislodged again as he’d laughed. “I-I can’t believe you made me guess all those times when I’d gotten it right so early on.”

Martin rolls his eyes.

“Way to deflect the compliment Mr. Sims,” he says tweaking Jon’s nose gently. “I just- I dunno, I was enjoying it and I didn’t really want you to stop. Sorr- agh, no, never mind.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped.”

The genuine confusion on Martin’s face makes something stir in his stomach.

“What? But there wouldn’t have been a reson-“

“Is it really so hard to believe that you’re my reason Martin?”

“Oh.” Martin pauses, a smile slowly curling up his face. “That’s really poetic.”

“Going to tuck it away in one of those notebooks of yours that you never let me see?”

“Oh, don’t you tempt me now.” He gets up and stretches, before offering a hand to Jon. “Where’s your place then?”

Jon smiles as Martin pulls him to his feet. 

“So you’re coming?”

“Despite your merciless bullying, yes I am. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.” He squeezes Martin’s hand, very intent on not letting go until the other made him. “It’s always okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOO so sorry for such a late update! I had finals, followed by a very predictable burnout, proceeded to overwork my hands (art school baby!), then just a bunch of personal stuff!!!
> 
> BUT ITS HERE AND ITS HORRIBLY FLUFFY! THANKS FOR READING
> 
> anyways. heres the rest of the characters favourite ice creams cause I could never insert a l l of them in the fic:  
> tim: something like rocky road, or smores if that exists  
> sasha: pecan!! pistachio is also good  
> daisy: lemon sorbet very obviously as previously mentioned  
> Basira: mint chocolate chip. they bully her abt it :(  
> Melanie: cherry garcia/raspberry ripple, stuff like that  
> Georgie: coffee but other than that will only eat sorbets  
> elias/jonah: a frozen cup of milk with nothing else in it. (og pothead elias would like strawberry though in my humble opinion)  
> Peter: also a frozen cup of milk. he puts sea salt on it though  
> Jurgen leitner: i honestly have no fucking idea? what do you guys think.  
> gerry: that activated charcoal ice cream because, once again, aesthetic wins over flavour

**Author's Note:**

> well hope u enjoyed!!! the next chapter is a Lot better, I promise. 
> 
> also I hate the title and I will be taking suggestions in the comments! If u know any songs with lyrics about ice cream dates that have more or less the same vibes as sunkissed by khai dreams lmk!!
> 
> EDIT: THIS IS THE NOTE ON THE FIRST CHAPTER!!! IT JUST SEEMS TO BE APPEARING AT THE END OF EVERY CHAPTER FOR SOME REASON!! THIS WORK IS ONLY 3 CHAPTERS LONG !! sorry to everyone who thought there would be more :< I am writing a sequel to this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734240 in case anyone is interested!! its less lighthearted than this fic tho


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